Hell?
by jmmy
Summary: Angst after Destiny either Liz pov or Maria i wrote this with one of them in mind, you can choose who.... feedback appreciated but please no flames.... Deals with suicide, i know this is a touchy issue, this is NOT inteded to offend. If you wont lik
1. Default Chapter

As I lie here on the floor, I know there is a hell, and it does not wait for those who die. Broken and bleeding, bruised, scarred, torn and shredded, I wait in agony, for what was sure to be the final blow. Only, in reality, no bruises mark my flesh. No cuts, no wounds. My scars are emotional. My bruises, mental. No physical injuries for me – my life is not that kind. I am broken, but internally.

They ripped away the last shred of my humanity long ago; so long ago that the minutes and hours and days all blurred into one, and I cannot remember the last time I felt anything other than pain, pain and anger and self-pity and self-loathing and all the other emotions that fill the darker side of the spectrum. No love for me, no happiness – I can barely even understand those concepts now, let alone feel them. I long for release, long for the torrent of pain to wash away into blissful nothingness.

It leaves me empty, sex. Afterwards, all I feel is this sense of emptiness, like I'm hollow inside. As if someone has just reached a hand down my throat and pulled out everything that makes me feel. In some perverse way, I think that's why I do it whenever and with whoever I can. I wish I could say that I'm trying to find the person that doesn't leave me empty, that that's the reason I fuck anyone who will have me. But truthfully, I crave the emptiness. I long for it, like others long for the completion that sex brings to them. And sex gives me the release that I long for. The emptiness replaces the pain, for a brief amount of time. But it's too brief, and soon, the pain seeps back in, consuming my being until all I can do is find anyone who will take me, anyone at all, and bring back the emptiness.

Like I said, I wish I could claim to be searching for completion, like everyone else. Searching for the one person who wont leave me empty, searching for the person who will replace the pain not with nothingness, but with joy, or happiness, or contentment. But the truth is, I had completion once. And I know that all others would pale in comparison if I could allow myself to feel afterwards. And the pain comes from knowing that I can only have emptiness, and I seek emptiness as release from the pain. It's a vicious circle that I can never break from, like the snake that consumes its tail to survive. A catch 22, the circle of life.... whatever metaphor you want to apply to it.

He brought me to this. He did, and she did, and they all did. They did it out of concern for him, and to some extent, her. They pushed me aside and rejected me, and it never occurred to them that it was not him that needed them, it was me. Tender and fragile after her, I needed them to save me. But they didn't see me, only him, and in the end the only kindness they could give me was pity.

I can understand her motives more than the rest. In some twisted way, she wanted to be me. I had him, I had them, I was everything she was not. And so, she, despite being my destroyer, is the one I feel for the most. When I can feel. She destroyed me, but only because, simply by existing, I had destroyed her. I had shattered this illusion that she had arrived with; I had destroyed all her beliefs with the simple act of loving him, and having my love returned. And eventually, all she could do to save herself was to destroy me. Isn't survival a bitch?

In a way, it is him that I hate the most. As if he had control over his love for me, as if he could have stopped me from loving him somehow. As if he could have ever made a difference. But truthfully, I hate him because I never could hate him, because I loved him so strongly and so completely that I thought nothing could ever break us. And most of all, because something did. I hate him because in the end, our love wasn't as strong as we thought, and looking back, could never have been. I hate him because I have convinced myself he failed me, he didn't love me enough. And because I cannot admit to myself that maybe, just maybe, I failed him too.


	2. Chapter 2

Ask anyone else and they will tell you it started with her arrival a year ago. In reality, it started before that. It started even before the shooting in the diner, before he bared his soul to me and I fell head over heels in love. It started in 1947, when an alien ship landed in the small town of Roswell, New Mexico, and began a whirlwind of events that would lead to me, here, lying on this floor.

I wonder sometimes if I could have done something different, if there was an act I could have performed, something I could have said that would have changed things. But after a year, my mind still draws a blank. Destiny has this way of ruining your life forever with one snap of her fingers.

That first time, with him, it wasn't perfect; it wasn't something out of a movie or a romance novel. It was painful, and rushed, and awkward. But it made me feel like nothing had ever done before. I felt alive, wanted, whole. My blood was singing through my veins, wanting nothing more than to touch and be touched and to drown in him. Afterwards, we held each other, and I cried.

Now, I have my vicious circle of pain and emptiness and emptiness and pain, knowing that everything I touch will turn to coal, like some kind of twisted Midas touch. The first guy I slept with, after him, was the only time I cried after sex again. He looked at me, confused, and I just shrugged him off and walked home and sat on my bed and cried. Great, wracking sobs, the kind where you can't breathe and you feel like your heart is going to explode. After that, the emptiness became something I got used to, a companion, and eventually, an addiction. Faceless guy after faceless guy, I must have slept with nearly the whole town, and not a single one of them tried to help.

They knew though. I could see it in their faces as they looked at me across the quad at school. But did one of them help me? Did a single one of them turn to me with compassion and ask me why? Not even my supposed best friend, the one who had been my rock through all these years. Instead, wrapped up in a man that was really just a boy who would one day abandon her, like mine did me, she turned away, walked away, into her own vicious spiral of pain.

Funnily enough, the only one that ever expressed any concern at all for me was the one that I would have least expected. Blonde curls that dominated my nightmares soon became less of a thing to be feared, and more a thing to be pitied. She only ever wanted love, the same as me, and so when she saw my downward spiral, she did the one thing that could have saved me, had I wanted to be saved. She took him, and them, and left for Florida for a month, hoping that the time away would give me time to recover.

By then though, I was past the point of no return. It was too little, too late, and the absence of the group only served to highlight the fact that he was gone forever, and I finally gave up. I quit my job, started skipping school, and by the time they returned, I was unrecognisable. A shell of my former self. Destiny will do that to you.

And now? Now, I've decided to do something about it. One last shot at filling the void, if you will. The gun in my hand feels right, feels like it belongs. There's Destiny for you. I lay here on this floor, broken, bleeding, bruised, scarred, torn, shredded, and finally accepting that the final blow will not be dealt by him, or them, or even her, but by me. Destiny won, and I accept Hell with open arms. Here's to Destiny.


End file.
